


No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

by Rrrowr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Feeding, Humiliation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is furious by the time they capture Deucalion and decides to repay him in kind for all the havoc he's caused to Beacon Hills and his pack. Caging Deucalion in mountain ash and hecatolite makes him weak and docile, and Stiles is more curious than he is afraid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon prompter who specified a kink for hand feeding.

Derek had been furious by the time they’d gotten their hands on Deucalion. That was the only reason the alpha was in the situation he was now, chained up in a small room that was lined with the same material as the vault Boyd and Cora had been trapped in. It wasn’t just about blocking out the power of the full moon — Peter had explained to Stiles. The moon was always there, whether you could see it or not, waxing or waning. It was every day without the moonlight to guide you, to lend control, that led to the rabid behavior later.

For Deucalion, the deterioration seemed agonizing, and Stiles couldn’t help watching. He was the only one who would come in the room anyway. None of the wolves wanted to be anywhere near this place. Sometimes he even had lunch there, watching in morbid fascination as Deucalion sagged in his chains, seeming more weary with each passing day. He wondered if Deucalion was saving his strength at all, hoping to escape.

Stiles leaned against the bars that separated him from from Deucalion. They were wooden — mountain ash, installed by Deaton. Stiles was fairly certain that Deucalion wouldn’t be able to escape even if he did get out of the chains. There was a plate set just inside the cell and a few bread rolls. If Deucalion stretched out, he could probably reach them with his teeth, but he didn’t look as if he’d reached the level of desperation it took to stoop that low.

"Are you hungry?" Stiles asked.

Deucalion lifted his head slowly and raised his hands to either side. The chains clanked together as he moved. “Why?" he asked, then snarled the rest: “Are you going to _feed_ me?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Can you even feed yourself?"

Reaching through the bars of mountain ash to grab one of the rolls, Stiles tossed it toward Deucalion, and it bounced a few times before falling at his knee. Deucalion’s fingers grasped the bread weakly, and Stiles watched as he brought it to his mouth before it just slipped from his hand. Deucalion swayed, as if he was sorely tempted to just eat the bread straight from the ground, but ended up making a low, angry noise that reverberated through the room.

"Alright, come on," Stiles said, feeling pity, and snatched a second roll from the plate. He sat on the floor and pressed his shoulder against the bars. After tearing off a small piece, he held it out to Deucalion. “You want to eat or not? Come and get it."

"Your alpha," Deucalion began with some difficulty. “He won’t like—"

"Yeah, yeah, I’m scared shitless," Stiles said. He waved the piece of bread between two fingers, and Deucalion slowly began to shuffle forward on his knees. “There we go. Not so hard, is it?"

Still, Deucalion seemed exhausted by the time he reached the limit of his chains and had to lean forward, following the scent of slightly stale bread to find the bit offered by Stiles’ fingers. As he got closer, though, he seemed more agitated — the smell of human, Stiles figured, bringing out his more animal side. When he bared his teeth, his mouth was full of fangs, glistening and wet with saliva. His eyes burned a dull red and hair began to bristle along his jaw.

"Ah, ah," Stiles said, withdrawing his arm sharply. “Gotta put away the fangs if you’re gonna get fed."

Deucalion’s head dropped. It seemed as if the only things holding him up now were the chains. When he faced Stiles again, the fangs were tucked away. The angry red of his eyes had simmered down to a pale pink. When Deucalion opened his mouth, Stiles pushed the bread between his lips and was startled to have soft lips wrap around his fingers, a wet tongue against his skin. Stiles jerked his hand back before he could get too much of that, but he had to rub his fingers together to ease the tingle in his skin. He hesitated to keep going, but then Deucalion rasped out, “Please," and then Stiles was holding out another piece of bread, having it taken from his fingers.

It happened again and again until the bread was gone, and Stiles had to rub his hands over his thighs to ease the itch in his skin. He didn’t say anything after that. He took the empty plate and left.

*

The next day, there was meat, cut up into small chunks and left in a bowl. It looked vaguely like dog food. Stiles wondered why Derek kept feeding him.

"The longer he lives, the longer he suffers," Derek told him with a cold matter-of-factness. “After what he did to all of us, he should pay and he deserves worse. I’ll kill him when I think he deserves that too."

The bread hadn’t done Deucalion much good, but he still refused to bow toward the dish being offered. Taking it from Stiles’ fingers, however, seemed to be more acceptable, and Deucalion was hungrier now. He ate more quickly, finding Stiles’ fingers before he’d even fully stretched out his arm. Deucalion’s mouth wrapped all the way to the second knuckle, tongue slipping between Stiles’ fingers, teeth scraping as he dragged his mouth away. Stiles’ hands shook by the time all the meat was gone. Prepared to run and never come back, Stiles grabbed the bowl and headed for the door.

Deucalion called out to him before he could open it. “Thank you," he said.

*

Derek seemed pleased to see the bowl empty. Stiles wondered but didn’t ask if Derek was imagining Deucalion shoving his face into the bowl like a dog. Being treated like an animal was the worst thing that Derek could probably think of doing to a werewolf, and Stiles couldn’t find the heart to blame him for being so angry — not after Erica and Cora and hell, even Peter.

*

Stiles stayed away as long as his curiosity could stand it — which turned out to be not long at all. 

*

It was fruit this time — peaches, the fresh kind. Derek had even sliced them.

"What’s this?" Stiles asked, pulling the peaches toward him. “A reward for good behavior?"

"Yes," Deucalion said, voice tired and soft. “I gave him information he wanted to know."

Stiles settled against the bars and held out a slice for Deucalion to eat. “Come and get your reward then. Since you’ve earned it and all."

Deucalion took his time with the peaches, biting off small chunks at a time and then sucking the juice off of Stiles fingers. His eyes slid closed as he ate, and his tongue laved over Stiles’ palm, finding all the places where the juice traveled. It made Stiles feel warm all over, watching an alpha wolf do that.

"This is the last piece," he warned Deucalion.

If anything, Deucalion ate even slower, taking nibbles instead of bites. He sucked at the fruit and licked at it before biting down. And when the fruit was gone, Stiles was slow in pulling his hand back. Deucalion was still tonguing at Stiles’ skin, cleaning him, but after a minute, there couldn’t possibly be any sweetness left — only skin. When Deucalion wrapped his lips around Stiles’ thumb and sucked, Stiles let the rest of his hand cup Deucalion’s cheek. It was rough with facial hair, prickly and long, and even that sent shivers up Stiles’ arm.

Then Deucalion was leaning, leaning — bending to find the tendons of Stiles’ wrist, nuzzling and licking, breathing at Stiles’ pulse. Stiles felt like his heart was pounding out of control, but instead of pulling back, he tried to squeeze his way through the bars, get his hand closer to maybe put his fingers in Deucalion’s hair. Stiles felt a tongue on the inside of his arm, and then Deucalion’s lips. By the time he heard the growl, it was too late to react.

He jerked back with a cry, skidding back from the bars with his arm clutched to his chest. It was burning hot with pain, and when he dared to look down at it, Stiles could barely see Deucalion’s teeth marks, bloodied over and deep. On the other side of the bars, Deucalion lunged toward him, yanking at the limits of his chains. Derek burst into the room in time to take in the bite mark on Stiles’ arm and to see Deucalion pull the chains clear from the concrete.

Deucalion threw himself at the mountain ash caging him in, clawing at the invisible barrier between him, Derek and Stiles. His eyes were a vivid, bloody red, and his teeth were still stained from the bite he’d taken out of Stiles.

"You’re mine!" he barked, with a low snarl in his throat. He sounded vicious, animal. More honestly threatening than he’d been before they’d ever caught him — but maybe that was because Stiles could feel it now, how much Deucalion meant those words. “Stiles! You’re mine!"

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://rrrowr.tumblr.com/post/53487419701) on tumblr.


End file.
